


hands on the wheel? fuck that

by izzygone



Series: nighttime creatures [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Car Sex, Deepthroating, Drug Use, Drunk Driving, M/M, Oral Sex, Roughness, Size Kink, do not try this at home, kavinsky is a size queen, road head under very dangerous conditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-29 20:19:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7698094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzygone/pseuds/izzygone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pretty sure the tags say it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hands on the wheel? fuck that

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to write a quick ~500 word oneshot to start my day. Oops.
> 
> Please note: there is DRUNK DRIVING and DRUG USE/SEX UNDER THE INFLUENCE involved here. In short, it's all _very, very_ dangerous. I don't condone these actions, but it's fiction, k?
> 
> This is not beta'd bc I haven't tried very hard to find a new one :/
> 
> Title from Hands On The Wheel by ScHoolboy Q.

It’s late. Ronan doesn’t even know what time – doesn’t even remember the last time he saw a watch, a clock, a cell phone. He’s been high for hours. Or maybe minutes. He thinks it was still light out when he took the pill, but maybe he was just inside? Now, he’s in a car. He’s driving pretty fast down hills and up mountains and over bridges, around curves deep in the forest and on long straightaways next to endless fields. Fast and faster and _fastest_.

Joseph Kavinsky is next to him, laughing and cradling a bottle of what looks like vodka but is probably some strange Bulgarian drink like plum rakia. Kavinsky is high too, Ronan thinks, but only because Kavinsky's always high and not because he saw him take a pill.

Ronan is aware that he’s driving one of Kavinsky’s one-thousand-and-one shiny white Mitsubishi Evos and he could wrap it around a tree and neither one of them would give a damn.

Gansey might give a damn. Adam might, if Ronan didn’t survive. Noah probably wouldn’t mind a companion in the afterlife, though. His brain snags on Noah for a long second and he feels his cock pulse remembering before Noah turned into a ghost and he’d let Ronan watch him beat off in his immaculate room at Monmouth.

He takes a sharp corner at too high a speed and the white Evo seems to shift, like it’s momentarily balancing on just two wheels and both he and Kavinsky let out a whoop of joy.

_Fuck_ , he’s high. He starts driving east – he doesn’t know how he knows its east, but it makes sense in his drug-addled brain – he wants to go to the coast. He wants to chase the fucking sunrise into the ocean.

His right knee suddenly feels warm. No, wait. There’s something _on_ his right knee.

Oh. It’s Kavinsky’s hand. It’s not unpleasant but it burns through his jeans, makes them itch so he wants to take them off. 

He doesn’t peel Kavinsky’s hand away, though he’s pretty sure he should. He can’t think of a single damn reason to now, though.

Kavinsky’s hand slowly spreads heat up and down Ronan’s thigh, inching closer and closer to the seam on his jeans with each notch the speedometer climbs as the car comes out onto an even, straight piece of road.

If they’re going to do this, Ronan should probably pull over. He doesn’t. He keeps one hand on the gearshift and parts his thighs just a little wider, keeping the pedal pressed all the way to the floor.

Kavinsky takes it for the invitation it is and his hand sweeps up the inseam to Ronan’s crotch and palms him, feels that he's hard enough to cut glass.

K gasps, lowly, and Ronan’s pretty sure it’s because he’s hung like a breeding stallion, and he can't help a smirk. He takes his eyes off the road to look at Kavinsky’s pretty mouth. They glide along in the Evo, Ronan refusing to look back at the street passing under them though they both know it’s not going to stay straight forever. Finally, Kavinsky grins and whips Ronan’s fly open and leans over, ducking his arm in a single fluid motion.

Ronan’s eyes rejoin the road just as the road starts to twist again and the way the car lurches is one part compensation for the changing angle and the rest shock and ecstasy as Kavinsky swallows down as much cock as he can get a hold of. 

There’s simply too much for an untrained throat to take on the first try, of course, but Kavinsky makes an admirable attempt. Ronan lifts his left knee to the steering wheel and uses it to guide them around the lazy turns as he brings his hand down on Kavinsky’s head, pressing, holding him down so he can’t come up for air. He makes a choking sound and it’s fucking glorious.

After a minute, they’re going around an S curve so steep and tight, Ronan needs his hand again to steer. Kavinsky pulls off for just long enough to curse him in what is probably Bulgarian, like he knows Ronan couldn’t give a fuck either way, and goes back at it. This time he takes a little more, though his mouth is only so wide and Ronan is just _so_   _fucking big._ A little moan escapes his mouth and reverberates out his throat and down Ronan’s cock so Ronan can’t not buck up into it just a little. K makes that desperate choking noise again and suddenly Ronan is two seconds from coming. They’re on a straightaway again so he releases his grip on the steering wheel in favor of grabbing Kavinsky by the short spikes of his hair and pulling him up and off. K’s tongue chases his prize and Ronan twists his fingers in his hair painfully. He can feel Kavinsky’s hot breath and it’s the most difficult thing in the world not to shove him back down again.

“Fuck, K, who’d have known you’re such a slut for it?” 

Kavinsky just groans, his desperate need not abating. His throat is raw and he feels like he’s been socked in the jaw but he _needs_. If he’d known what Lynch was hiding this whole time, he’d definitely have started this in a place he was more likely to get held down and fucked than in a car he barely had enough room to lift his head in. He feels a thin trail of saliva connecting his lips to the monster cock below him and he _aches_ to get just an inch closer. 

Ronan laughs, holding K’s head still just out of reach, “Yeah baby, you want that cock? Probably the biggest dick you’ve seen in your life outside a porno, huh slut?” 

At that Kavinsky can’t help but laugh too, “Nah man, Proko’s bigger.” 

Ah _fuck_ , Ronan thinks, because _that’s hot_. Leave it to Kavinsky to dream up a porn-star cock.

They're coming back to another set of curves, and Ronan, needing his hands for things like _not ending this drive prematurely_ , shoves K back down roughly.

Kavinsky goes willingly, grinning like a mad man and lifting his legs and shifting, maneuvering himself so he’s kneeling in the passenger seat, whole body angled over Lynch’s crotch. Absolutely no one driving by could mistake what they're doing, but this whole night they haven’t seen a single other car. Maybe that was a side effect or the drug? He decidedly didn’t fucking care.

The new angle gives him more space, lets him tilt his throat _just so_ and he can take so much more. Not all, _god_ , not all, he’d need to be lying down with his head lolling off the side of a bed for that – the idea causes him to shudder and suck brutally at Ronan’s cock and they both moan.

Kavinsky can feel them going around a series of turns so sharp, he almost slides out of the seat and nearly chokes on Lynch’s dick. He does neither, but he does graze his teeth just lightly over the head, and Ronan hisses not quite in pain, but not quite in pleasure. Kavinsky does it again just for fun then leans on his elbow, moving one hand to the base of that beast of a cock. He fists what he can’t reach of Lynch’s dick with his mouth, and Ronan groans and bucks up, trying to fuck his mouth.

It’s so fucking perfect because it hits the back of his throat, and he can’t breathe or think or do anything except suck and choke, suck and choke. How Ronan can be this high and drive and fuck his throat like he’ll die if he doesn’t get off is beyond Kavinsky’s comprehension. He can only stay like this, be a willing hole for Lynch to fuck into, hope that maybe he’ll get to do it again some day if he’s just good enough _now_.

They’re continuing their high-speed race to the coast. Ronan has absolutely no clue when they’ll get there, what beach they’re going to or if they’ll make it before sunrise. He only knows he’s heading east and he’s going to get off in Kavinsky’s mouth _way_ before he sees even a glimpse of morning light.

He’s surprisingly pleased – he’s never happy anymore, but right now he feels a strange euphoria and what might actually be _pride_ because Kavinsky is _so fucking good at this_. He acts like a top, but this is clearly his show. He looks better on his knees than he ever did standing. Ronan thinks maybe he won’t even stop at the coast, he’ll just keep driving and keep Kavinsky like this the whole time, sucking off Ronan until he comes then hold his head there, make him warm his cock until it’s hard enough to get off again.

It takes a couple of moments to realize the reason Kavinsky is moaning so loud around his full mouth is that Ronan said this all aloud.

Whatever. He doesn’t really care what Kavinsky thinks and it’s not like he’s getting any negative feedback about his dirty mouth. They’re coming around to another mostly-straight, gently sloping stretch of road and Ronan takes his hand off the wheel again. He’s been shifting and downshifting and basically keeping them at max speed given the dark, forest-lined Virginia roads between Henrietta and the ocean, but now he lets the car glide, it’s own momentum propelling it forward of its own accord like they’re free flying. He uses both hands to press K onto his cock as hard and as deep as he can get. He can feel Kavinsky’s tongue pulsing against him, pressing hard against the vein along the underside. He can feel K’s throat convulsing, feel his breath coming shallowly through his nose.

“Make me come, you fucking slut.” 

Kavinsky's reply is muffled by his full mouth but he squares his hips over his knees and gets suddenly _so serious_ about sucking cock. He already knows he can do this, and more importantly, he already knows he wants to. There’s no decision making that goes into picking Ronan’s cock over the necessity of breathing. He presses his face down, swallowing despite his gag reflex until he feels short hairs prickle his nose. He pulls up, swirling and sucking all the way up Ronan’s cock to the tip, hungrily licking off the pre-come there. He does this all again and again. Suck, swallow, swirl, lick, repeat. Ronan is steering and shifting using just one hand and the other is tangled in K’s hair, not applying real pressure, just clenching and unclenching from pleasure. Kavinsky experiences a moment of pure, venomous joy as he imagines that Lynch closing his eyes, _too_. This is so dangerous and hot that he’s fairly sure the car will burn up at the end of it. If they drive into a fucking tree right now, at least he’ll have gone out happy and with a cock in his mouth, just like he always wanted.

Ronan has been letting out a long litany of profanity since the moment Kavinsky started tonguing the slit on the tip of his cock each time he lifted up but his vocabulary is now reduced just to this: _fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK._

The road is narrow, and Ronan can see forest on one side and a sheer drop to the other. It’s possible this is a hallucination created by the drug that still burns in his veins, but that’s another item on a long list of shit he could not give fewer fucks about right now. He’s going to come. It’s inevitable, and he doesn’t bother uttering a warning. Kavinsky is working so hard for it, it’s hard to say who wants it more. Ronan lifts his hips and K swallows _just right_ and his teeth graze the tip again and that’s fucking _it_. Ronan can’t help but close his eyes – just for a second, and the car is in control more than he is. He comes for a long time, and Kavinsky chases every drop with his tongue. He laps at Ronan’s cock until he winces from over sensitivity, then slides back onto the passenger seat feeling completely boneless except for one.

He doesn’t need Ronan’s permission, but he’s still relieved to hear a rough voice commanding him, "Touch yourself.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. His cock is in his hands in a second and he’s not foolish enough to imagine Ronan is watching him do it, watching him strip his cock hard and rough. It doesn’t take more than 30 seconds for him to get off, come spurting out of him and onto the dash.

Neither he nor Lynch bother doing their jeans back up. The night is still young.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on the-real-izzygone on tumblr. I'm lonely and accepting prompts so come talk rovinsky with me!


End file.
